


Hold the Cheese

by sheerpoetry



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, that's it really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-23 05:01:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12499336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheerpoetry/pseuds/sheerpoetry
Summary: Derek wasn’t sure how he’d gotten himself into this particular situation. Sure, he’d gotten used to the pack in his space. But Stiles? He hadn’t gotten used to Stiles.Prompt:Fluff. Adorable Derek, maybe some pining, Stiles being his flailing, sassy self. Lydia and Laura would totally be a power couple. Laura is an awesome big sister. Stiles as a potential Emissary.I got the first half, at least? ;) Hope you enjoy it!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ParadiseDesdemona](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParadiseDesdemona/gifts).



> Huge thanks to [fear-frost](http://www.fear-frost/tumblr.com)/[fearfrost1211](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearfrost1211/pseuds/fearfrost1211)! She's a goddess and listened to all my crazy rambling.

Derek is woken from a surprisingly decent sleep by an incessant pounding on the door. He reluctantly drags himself out of bed to answer the door. The heartbeat and scent on the other side tell him who’s there instantly. Derek barely has the door open before Stiles is pushing past him into the loft.

“Hi, Stiles. Come in, Stiles,” Derek said under his breath.

“What are you muttering about?” Stiles says already in front of the window before turning to acknowledge Derek.

Derek slides the door closed and locks it. “Nothing. Why are you here?”

Stiles takes a moment to glare at Derek before falling onto the couch. “Way to treat a house guest, Derek. You know, if you frown any harder, your face will get stuck like that.” He gestures vaguely in Derek’s direction from where he’s sprawled across the couch.

Derek walks to the couch and stops to stand _right_ next to Stiles. “What about my face?”

Stiles’ eyes fly open, leaving him staring up at Derek. Derek hears his breath catch and his heartbeat quicken.

“It’s...attached to your body.” Stiles groans and covers his eyes. “Seriously, dude. Do you even own a shirt?”

Derek sits on the coffee table. “Several. Why. Are. You. _Here_?”

“Oh!” Stiles jumps up and begins pacing the small space between the couch and table. “So, Scott was out in the woods with Allison--” Derek raises his eyebrows. “Dude, you don’t wanna know. _I_ didn’t want to know when Scott told me. In great detail, I might add.”

“Stiles.” Derek’s not entirely responsible for the way the name comes out. He’s _not_.

“Are you--did you just _growl_ at me?” Derek thinks Stiles really shouldn’t be as shocked as he sounds right now. Derek spends a lot of time growling at Stiles. It’s almost a natural reaction to his presence. (He doesn’t spend a lot of time thinking about _why_.)

Derek rubs the back of his neck, where he’s sure a tension headache is forming. “Stiles.” It’s no less of a growl this time and Derek clenches his teeth. “Did you have a point when you woke me up at--” He squints at the clock in the kitchen. “--1:19am?”

“ _Yes_ , I was telling you. Scott found--”

Derek interrupts him. “If it’s any part of Allison’s body, I don’t want to know.”

“No--well, yeah.” Stiles blushes and Derek can smell the brief flush of embarrassment before the adrenaline takes over again and he resumes pacing. “Scott found these _flowers_.”

Derek grabs Stiles’ hands as he passes and pulls him down next to him on the table, narrowly avoiding earning himself a lapful of Stiles. “You woke me up for _flowers_?” Derek tries not to growl, but he might. Just a little.

Stiles is busy staring at their hands, still linked between them. Derek quickly releases his hold on Stiles and watches him flex his fingers slowly. “Did I not mention they were glowing?”

“No, you did not mention that.”

Stiles finally looks up at Derek. “Oh. Well. There are glowing flowers. In the woods. In _your_ woods.”

“Did you check--” This time, Stiles cuts off Derek’s question.

“The internet? Yes. California is free of phosphorescent fauna. Or it’s supposed to be.” He chuckles to himself. “Free of phosphorescent fauna. Try saying that five times fast.”

“Stiles?” Derek hates that he knows to ask--that he _has_ to ask. “How much Adderall have you had today?”

Stiles seems to be running out of steam. He sags into Derek’s side. “One. Or five. And a Red Bull. Or three.”

Derek subtlely (he hopes) sniffs the air and is immediately assaulted by the sickening combination of caffeine and chemicals. “Stiles.” Derek shakes his head, not really knowing what else to say.

Stiles waves a hand dismissively and yawns. “Not a big deal. All in the name of research. So. Glowing flowers?”

Derek _really_ didn’t want this to come up. He especially didn’t want to tell Stiles. “It’s probably just a fairy ring.”

“I’m sorry, it’s _what_?” Stiles almost shouts and Derek winces both at the volume and the upcoming conversation.

Derek sighs. This was exactly why he’s never mentioned it. “Fairies. They show up for holidays sometimes when the weather’s right.”

“How could you not have mentioned this?” Stiles is off the table and pacing again. Derek wonders how he has the energy to put one foot in front of the other.

Derek reaches for Stiles again and is surprised when he lets Derek pull him into his side. He gently runs a hand up and down Stiles’ arm, hoping it’s somehow soothing. “Stiles. It’s fine. They’re not here to hurt anyone. They light up the preserve for a few days and then move on. No one usually knows they’re even here.”

Stiles nods against Derek’s shoulder and yawns. “You better be right. I do _not_ want to have to fight Tinkerbell.”

“They’re not--” Derek starts, but stops when he realizes Stiles is close to falling asleep. He nudges Stiles. “Come on. Up.”

Stiles groans and turns further into Derek. “No.”

“Fine.” Derek shrugs and stands. He picks  Stiles up, trying to ignore (dodge, really) his flailing.

“Put me down!” Derek finds out Stiles is surprisingly strong--not that he doubted it, really--when Stiles not-so-gently pinches his bicep. Repeatedly.

Derek may or may not accidentally drop Stiles on the couch. (He does drop him. It’s not an accident.) “You’re not driving home.”

“I’m perfectly capable--”

“You’re dead on your feet. You’re not driving. Text your dad.”

Stiles pulls out his phone before looking up at Derek. “I’m not sleeping on the couch. Your furniture sucks, dude.”

Derek picks Stiles up again--trying to ignore how Stiles just _fits_ \--and carries him over to the large bed in the corner of the room, tossing him in the center of it. “Better?”

Stiles kicks off his shoes and slouches down in the bed. Derek’s bed. That Stiles is currently rubbing his scent _all over_. “Yeah. Thanks.” Derek turns to return to the couch when Stiles calls out. “Hey. Where are you going?”

Derek looks heavenward, though he’s not sure who he expects to save him on this one. “The couch.”

Derek can’t describe the noise Stiles makes in response. “Your bed is huge. Just get in.”

Derek is glad Stiles can’t hear _his_ heartbeat as he climbs in the bed. Stiles inches to the side to give Derek a bit of room before turning back to face him. “Go to sleep, Stiles.”

“But I didn't even--”

“You think loud. Go to sleep.” He hears Stiles huff and roll over before rolling to face the opposite direction.

When Stiles wakes the next morning, Derek is making breakfast in the kitchen. Far away from the bed that smells like _Stiles_ and _them_. Away from where he woke up with Stiles wrapped around him like a pretzel and drooling on his chest.


	2. Chapter 2

Derek wasn’t sure how he’d gotten himself into this particular situation. Sure, he’d gotten used to the pack in his space--hanging out in the loft, eating the food in his fridge, watching movies from his few pieces of furniture (and the floor).

But Stiles? He hadn’t gotten used to Stiles. He was beginning to think it wasn’t possible--that he’d always feel this low-level buzz of electricity around Stiles, that his heartbeat would always be a little louder and his scent a little stronger. Some days it almost drives Derek crazy, catching the scent in his loft long after Stiles has gone.

Right now, though, Derek’s drowning in it--in _Stiles_. He’d come back from the grocery store to find Stiles sprawled across his couch with the tv on low. Derek carries the bags to the counter and begins putting away the food.

“Making yourself at home?” Derek asks from the kitchen.

Stiles startles and falls off the couch, head popping up over the cushions a few moments later. “Hey! Didn’t hear you come in.”

“I live here.”

Stiles runs a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up in all directions. “Yeah, sorry.”

Derek tries to focus on the groceries, but Stiles comes to join him at the kitchen island and starts rifling through the remaining bags. Derek sighs, inhaling, and notices the slight scent of alcohol clinging to Stiles. “Stiles?”

Stiles looks up guiltily, a jar of peanut butter in one hand and package of Oreos in the other. “Scott dumped me for Allison again and dad’s at work. I just...didn’t want to be at home.”

Derek nods and pulls a box out of one of the shopping bags. “Popcorn?”

Stiles brightens and snatches the box from Derek and unceremoniously rips it open. “Gotta say, dude, I kinda expected you to have the kind that goes on the stove...or campfire.” He winks at Derek before dumping a packet of popcorn in the microwave. “Mom and I exploded one of those, once. Found popcorn for _days_.”

Derek takes the opportunity to watch Stiles while Stiles is watching the bag rotate and expand in the microwave. He’s tapping his fingers against the counter, but otherwise relaxed. Derek takes a deep inhale and smells a twinge of alcohol and _Stiles,_ but no anxiety or sadness. “Stiles?”

“Hmm?” His fingers are still tapping, eyes still on the microwave.

“Are you okay?” Derek doesn’t think he’s asked anyone that in years. He knows he’s never asked Stiles, mostly because he was afraid of the answer--especially after the nogitsune. But he’s not sure what to do with _this_ Stiles--quiet and reserved and  _in his kitchen_.

The microwave beeps and Stiles--predictably--grabs the bag while it’s literally steaming hot. Which causes Stiles to start dancing around while hissing varieties of “ _Shit_ , _ow._   _Fuck_ , _that’s hot_.”

Derek rescues him by snatching the bag from his hands and turning Stiles to the sink to run water over his reddening fingers. “Stay.” It's a command, but he keeps his eyes from flashing. Barely.

Stiles salutes him with his free hand. Derek gets a mixing bowl from the cabinet and dumps the popcorn in it, dousing it with a generous helping of salt. He’s sure to grab the jar of grated Parmesan from the fridge before coming back to check on Stiles. He pulls Stiles’ hand from underneath the cold stream of water and inspects his fingers for damage.

Stiles wiggles his fingers in Derek’s grip. “I think I’m good. Did you get the--” Stiles cuts himself off when he sees the cheese next to the bowl and does a little victory shimmy. “ _Yes!_ You’re awesome.” Stiles grabs the popcorn and cheese, heading back toward the couch. He pauses a few steps in and turns back to Derek. “Join me?”

Derek closes his eyes against the assault on his senses that he’s beginning to realize is just _Stiles_ and processes the implications of that offer.

“Derek?” Stiles is looking at him expectantly over the back of the couch.

Derek gives up and pushes off the counter. Stiles grins and turns the volume back up on the tv. “What are we watching?” He honestly couldn't care, but it’s keeping Stiles entertained.

Stiles side-eyes Derek while pouring cheese over the popcorn. Derek wrinkles his nose. He’d never cared for the combination--had never _heard_ of it before Stiles--which usually meant Stiles got a bowl to himself on movie nights.

“It’s, uh, Supernatural.” Derek raises an eyebrow in response. “I know, you’d think we got enough of that, right?” They both cringe as a woman explodes on screen. “They’ve seen some shit.”

“Stiles.” Derek knows he shouldn’t press the issue, not when Stiles is calm and content and _here_.

Stiles pauses with a handful of popcorn halfway to his mouth. “Yeah?”

“Are you okay?” Something in his tone must have changed because this time it works.

Stiles smiles and Derek’s surprised by the sincerity of it. His voice is light when he responds. “Yeah. Just...didn’t want to be alone. Thought I'd come bother you for a while.” Stiles elbows him playfully and Derek hadn’t realized they were sitting that _close_.

“You’re not a bother.” Stiles raises both eyebrows at that admission, cheeks puffed full of popcorn. “--all the time, anyway.” Stiles snorts and almost spits popcorn across the table. “You’re cleaning that up.”

Stiles shrugs and continues to shovel popcorn into his mouth.

*****

 

Three episodes and another bag of popcorn later, Derek is less than impressed by the Winchesters.

“That’s _completely_ unrealistic!” Derek's surprised by his own aggravated outburst.

Stiles gives him a look. “So are you.”

“No, I mean. They don’t _look_ like that.” Derek nods toward the tv where the brothers are trying to take down a djinn. Derek realizes he’s made a mistake when Stiles turns to him.

“No. _Fucking_. Way.”

Derek slowly turns to Stiles, who is just... _waiting_. Derek’s not sure if he likes being the sole focus of Stiles’ undivided attention. It’s a powerful thing. He clears his throat, trying to prepare some sort of answer or explanation for whatever Stiles is about to ask.

Stiles scoots closer to Derek on the couch, whole body turned toward him. “Fairies. Djinns. Striga. What else have you seen, Derek?”

Derek shrugs and tries not to squirm. “You’re the one with the bestiary.”

“I _know_.” Stiles leans forward. “But those are just _words_! What have you _seen_? Vampires? Mermaids? Leprechauns?”

Derek is momentarily offended. “Vampires aren't real.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, waves a dismissive hand. “Pot, kettle. Whatever. _Tell me.”_

“There were the fairies in the preserve last month.”

Stiles snaps his fingers. “Yes! What are they like? You never would let us go back out there.”

Derek pretends to consider it for a moment. “Not like Tinkerbell. And they don’t really like to be interrupted during ritual seasons.”

“Fine.” Stiles sinks back into the couch. “Leprechauns? Are they magically delicious?”

“They’re actually surprisingly large and don’t particularly appreciate references to breakfast cereal.”

“Oh my _god_ , you did it, didn’t you? I can see it now, little wolf Derek threatening to rip out a leprechaun’s throat--with your teeth.”

“...actually, it was a child leprechaun,” Derek reluctantly admits.

Stiles doubles over in laughter, slapping his leg. “You _didn't._ You threatened a poor little baby leprechaun?”

“Her mother wasn’t pleased.” Derek thinks back. “Mine either, actually. I had to apologize. And give up Lucky Charms for six months.”

Stiles lays a hand on Derek's shoulder and shoves lightly. “Oh man. I don’t know what to _do_ with you when you’re like this.”

“I can think of a few things.” It’s out of his mouth before Derek can even process it. Stiles freezes, hand clenching on Derek’s shoulder. Derek shuts his eyes, hoping there’s some way to laugh this off, an explanation, _something_. “I mean--”

Stiles slaps a hand over Derek’s mouth. “Do you mean it?” Derek locks eyes with Stiles, nods his head. “Oh thank god.” Stiles drops his hand and then he’s leaning in and _then_ \--

Derek has certainly thought of kissing Stiles before, all the times they were in each other’s faces, breathing in each other’s air. Every time he looked too long at those _lips_. And then Stiles is licking into his mouth and he  _can’t_ think anymore. There’s just the overwhelming tastes of soda and salt and popcorn and--

Derek pulls back, licks his lips. “ _Parmesan_.”

“Excuse me?”

“That popcorn is fucking gross, Stiles.”

“Are you serious right now?” Stiles has completely backed out of his space and Derek is totally deserving of the look he’s getting.

“Yes...No.” Derek groans, grabs for Stiles. “Get _back here_.” Stiles doesn’t resist when Derek hauls him in for another kiss, just melts against him. It was a little disgusting and a lot perfect. Derek was even beginning to like the cheese.


	3. Chapter 3

The pack hadn't been together since he and Stiles had become, well, _him and Stiles_. Derek smiles to himself as he sets out the usual buffet of snacks for pack night. Stiles drapes himself across Derek's back and reaches around him to snag a chip from the bowl. Derek hadn't thought Stiles could get _more_ tactile. He was wrong.

“What are you smiling about, sour wolf?” Stiles pops the chip in his mouth.

Derek shrugs and pulls Stiles in by his hoodie for a quick kiss. It lingers a moment too long; Stiles is barely upright when they part, leaving Derek's fist clenched in the red material.

“Hey.” Stiles’ long fingers wrap around Derek's. “Hands off the goods. At least for now.” Stiles winks at him. It's _obscene_. 

Derek releases Stiles a bit too forcefully. “You're a menace.”

Stiles smiles sweetly. “But I'm _your_ menace now, dude.” Derek growls lowly when Stiles reaches back into the snacks. “Don’t I get special boyfriend privileges or something?”

“You do. They don't include early access to snacks.”

Stiles huffs. “Well, they should!”

Derek crowds Stiles against the counter, listens to his heart rate increase, smells the sweet and spicy flash of arousal. He leans to whisper against Stiles’ ear, brushing his hands down Stiles’ sides to rest on his hips. “They do, however, include unlimited access to _me_.”

Derek loves the full body shiver he _feels_ in response. Stiles groans and sags against the counter. “And you say _I'm_ trouble.”

He hears the sound of the pack approaching the floor and steps back, putting distance between himself and Stiles just as the pack begins to enter.

Predictably, the teenagers descend on the food first, managing mumbled “hellos” around mouthfuls of chips and pizza. Stiles gives Derek a look he can't quite parse as their pack mates fight over food and seating arrangements.

Scott stops next to Stiles on the way to the living room and makes a point of sniffing loudly. “You smell different.”

Derek freezes when he catches Stiles gaze. “Yeah, just trying something new. Not sure how it's working out.”

Scott sniffs again. “It's...weird.”

Stiles drapes an arm across Scott’s shoulder and leads him out of the kitchen, glaring at Derek as they pass. “You have no idea, dude.”

By the time they’ve finished eating and argued over what movie to watch, _everyone_ has commented on the change in Stiles’ scent. Stiles gets up to put the movie in and everyone resettles into their normal groups ( _pairs_ , really, when Derek thinks about it)--Lydia’s perched daintily in Jackson’s lap in the arm chair, Erica is cuddled against Boyd in the large bean bag Derek _knows_ he didn't buy, and Scott, Allison, and Isaac are piled on top of other on the love seat. When Stiles turns from the TV, only the couch--next to Derek--is empty.

Derek doesn't think to panic as Stiles stalks toward him, smirk firmly in place. Which was definitely a mistake, Derek realizes, as Stiles drops into his lap.

Behind them, the room goes quiet as Scott chokes on air. “Stiles?” He finally manages, after both Isaac and Allison pound his back a few times, voice slightly strangled.

Stiles grins at Derek. “Hmm?”

“ _Stiles_.” Scott’s more insistent this time and Stiles finally turns to face his friend. “What the _fuck_?”

Stiles has only settled more comfortably in Derek's lap. Derek wishes he could do anything but wrap his arms around Stiles and pull him closer.

“That new thing I’m doing? It's Derek.”

Derek can only hide his face in Stiles’ neck as he laughs, shoulders shaking under Stiles’ hands. There's a chorus of “congratulations” and “it's about time” around the room with a brief round of applause from Erica.

“ _Derek_?” Scott still sounds a little choked.

“--and you are great together,” Isaac finishes.

“ _But_ \--” Scott tries again and is cut off by Allison's hand over his mouth.

“--we’re very happy for them. Right, Scott?” Allison smiles sweetly, dimples on full display.

Scott deflates between them, nodding. Isaac and Allison both drape themselves over Scott as they finally settle in for the movie.

Stiles snickers and moves to Derek’s side before poking him in the ribs. “Hey. Cuddle me.”

“ _Demanding_.” Derek complies anyway, pulling Stiles closer and wrapping his arms around him. He spares a glance in Scott’s direction, who is watching him warily. Derek leans to whisper in Stiles’ ear. “He’s going to pout about this all night, isn’t he?”

Stiles snorts, knowing full well that Scott can hear them. “Try a week. At _least_.”

Allison slaps a hand over Scott’s mouth again before he can speak. “Very happy for you!”

Stiles smiles up at Derek, his reply low enough for only them to hear. “Me, too.”


End file.
